


Genesis

by rosegardeninwinter



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mild Sexual Content, but like a different apocalypse, lots of biblical references, quarantine but like on steroids, there are no Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/pseuds/rosegardeninwinter
Summary: Prompt #66: Everlark post apocalypse. Katniss and Peeta are neighbors and the only two that make it to Katniss's father's bunker in time. Over the course of several years the two have grown quite close, having no one else, but now provisions are running low. Do they face the unknown outside or stay put, knowing they only have food to last another week? [submitted by anonymous]
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 73
Collections: Everlark Fic Exchange - Springtime 2020





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> I'd planned on making this a one shot, but that was't how the proverbial cookie decided to crumble. So instead, here is the first part, Genesis, and be on lookout for the second part, Exodus at a future date. (Sadly there will be no Leviticus, Numbers, or Deuteronomy 😉). I took a little liberty with the original prompt because I read it and thought "I love this, but what if it was worse?" Enjoy!

The sky is a blushing, babydoll pink the day the world comes to an end. 

It doesn’t seem real to Peeta Mellark—as the forest pitches and rolls before his eyes, as wind sends trees slicing through the air like helicopter blades, only to splash into the frothing torrent that is rising steadily closer and closer to the ledge where he braces himself against the bunker’s hatch—something as beautiful as a pink dawn ever having existed.

Katniss Everdeen is howling for her sister and her parents. She must know they’re not coming, but she keeps trying to climb up the ladder to stop him from closing the door. 

“Peeta! Please! Please, they might make it!” She’s hysterical, clawing up his body in her desperation to get to the hatch handle. Her nails dig into his sides. “Don’t shut it, Peeta! Don’t.” 

“I have to, Katniss! It isn’t safe!” 

“I don’t care,” she screams. “I don’t care if I die! I can’t leave them!” 

“Katniss!” he snaps. He hates himself for doing this, but if he doesn’t, Mr and Mrs. Everdeen’s long laboring over this shelter will have all been in vain. He can’t let that happen. He can’t let Katniss Everdeen die. He won’t. “They’re dead! They’re dead! They’re not coming!” 

Katniss stares up at him in shock. Her jaw sets in a steely line and he realizes she’s about to lunge and try to yank him down a split second before she does it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs, and in one motion he kicks the girl he’s loved since they were eleven hard in the chest, knocking her down the ladder into a winded heap at the bottom, and heaves the hatch shut, locking it into place and sealing them inside. 

**[five years]**

“Your turn.”

The bed frame gives a squeak as Peeta turns over onto his side and props open the leather bound book. They’ve got other things to read, but this game works best with a Bible. 

“I’m going to take the name out of this one or you’ll get it right away.” 

Katniss nods and leans her head back, looking up at the ceiling of the bunker. The run lights are set to a warm glow that bathes the space in a drowsy summer sunset. 

Her father had an eye for beauty. Her mother had one for practicality. The shelter they made for their family has both — it’s safe, but comfortable. Of course, when they built it, they were expecting it to house more people.

Katniss gnaws on the inside of her lip. It used to send her into an anxiety attack, thinking of Mom and Dad and Prim, swept away by the disasters aboveground. Sometimes it still does, and she jolts out of nightmares clawing at her sheets. But today, she can keep it contained to a spot of blood at the corner of her mouth. 

“You good?” Nothing she does is a mystery to him. He can read her as easily as the pages of the book he’s rifling through. 

“I’m good.”

“Alright. For three points.” He clears his throat and quotes. “‘Entreat me not to leave you, or to turn back from following after you. For wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you lodge, I will lodge.’” 

“Ruth,” Katniss states resolutely, marking her points down on the notepad laid between them before he’s even finished reading. “That’s easy. Everyone uses that verse in their wedding vows.”

“I’m not sure you realize this but my family was not the churchgoing type,” he says, trading her the book for the point pad. “Some might argue this game is biased in your favor.” 

“Hardly,” she corrects. “I hadn’t picked up a Bible since I was ten. I mean, before.” 

“Now look at us,” he says. “We’re regular theologians.” 

They’re not, but there has been something comforting about the old book, embossed with her mother’s name on the cover. Many of the pages are dogeared, lines scored under in ink, snatches of poetry they read when things start to feel particularly bleak.

“Okay, for five points.”

“Five?” he cries incredulously. 

“Five. It’s a tricky one.”

“Ugh, fine.” 

Katniss clears her throat. “While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, winter and summer, and day and night, shall not cease.”

“Psalms, ha!” Peeta crows. “That wasn’t hard.” He reaches out to give himself the points, but Katniss bats the pencil back. 

“It’s not Psalms,” she says smugly and Peeta’s face falls. 

“What? It sounds just like Psalms!” 

“But it’s not,” Katniss singsongs. “Try again. For four points.”

“Proverbs.”

“Nope. Three.” 

“Dammit.” 

“Definitely not. Two.” 

“That’s not what I — ! Isaiah?” 

“Not even close. One.”

“Revelation?” 

“Genesis!” 

“There’s no way!” 

“It’s the story of Noah. Right there.” She jabs the page and giggles as he adopts a comical expression of outrage. “Which means ... ” She counts up the points. “I get to decide what we’re having for dinner.” 

“One more,” he pleads. “I need a redemption round.”

Katniss considers this, tapping the pencil against her lips. “One more,” she acquiesces and closes her eyes to wait. The generator hums distantly, a perpetual, steady sound. It puts them to sleep at night and is the first thing they hear in the morning. Or whatever passes for morning and night down here. They have their own circadian rhythm. 

_Was this what it was like in the ark?_ she wonders. _No sense of time or direction?_ Noah didn’t have the technological advances or the supplies they do, but at least he had the clean air of the ocean, however stormy. Katniss would give up a lot of their comforts for a single gulp of fresh air. Forty days and forty nights have passed many, many times, but they don’t have any birds to send out to look for dry land. 

“Okay, I’ve got a good one,” Peeta decides. “I’ll even give you the verse.” 

“I swear if you picked one of the genealogy ones — ” 

“I wouldn’t be that cruel,” he says. There’s a change in his tone. It’s still playful, but lower, gentler. She feels his palms splay on her waist and opens her eyes curiously as he tugs her half under him, his knee between her thighs. Soft strokes of his thumbs up her ribcage send flutters down her body. 

“This is cheating,” she protests. “You’re trying to distract me.” 

“No, I’m not,” he says. “Chapter seven,” he says with a smirk and she groans and puts her hands over her face as she makes the connection. “Verse six.” 

“You’re so cheesy,” she gasps. “It’s a good thing I love you.” 

“Did you get it, though?” His knee gives a nudge and she squirms. 

“I think I could use a few more hints,” she says, even though there’s no way she’d get this one wrong.

By the time he’s finished giving her hints, she’s out of breath and melting into the mattress. “I think I know now,” she says. 

“Tell me.” He nips her thigh. 

“Leviticus,” she says firmly and they both burst into laughter. 

“That was it,” he jokes. 

“Maybe this game is biased in my favor after all.” She exhales, blowing her hair out of her eyes and stretching. 

“I don’t think anyone lost that round.” 

“No, I definitely won,” Katniss yawns. “And I got the book right too.” 

“I assume you want lamb stew for dinner?” 

“Yes, please,” she says around another yawn. Peeta grunts as he gets up from the bed. Lamb stew is her favorite of their rations and her mouth waters as she hears him click on the electric heater. 

Half a decade spent underground together. They were sixteen when they went in here, lifelong friends and neighbors. They’re twenty one now, and maybe the last people left on earth. How would they know? The hatch Peeta closed years ago has remained untouched since. For a month after, Katniss couldn’t look at him, let alone speak to him. Time convinced her he did the right thing. Her father would have closed the hatch, would have wanted Peeta to do the same. She remembers the night she broke down, how they cried for hours and held each other and fell asleep entwined. 

They’ve fallen asleep that way ever since, a tangle of comfort. This would have happened anyway, Katniss decides one night, as she watches him snore next to her. Even if they weren’t maybe the last people left on earth. Summer days spent chasing fireflies and slurping up melted ice cream would have turned into something more sooner or later. She’d never have imagined that “something more” would be sharing a shower every Thursday night (for ten minutes absolute maximum, if they’re to preserve the hot water). She’d never have imagined treating themselves to an entire jar of condensed milk and canned peaches on birthdays. Or telling him she loved him for the first time two years ago, lying pulse to trembling pulse under the flickering blue of the safety lights. But it’s okay. It’s good. 

“Katniss.” Peeta’s tone unsettles her. It’s ginger, careful. She sits up. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s uh — it’s not the worst thing, really.” He gives an uneasy laugh. He holds up the laminated inventory of their food. “We’re out of lamb stew.”

“Oh.” It’s like a yawning cavern has opened in the pit of her stomach. Not hunger, but fear. She forces herself to speak casually. “That’s okay. Do we have any ... um ... ” 

But she can’t think of an alternative, because it’s not the lack of her favorite meal that’s making her queasy, that’s making Peeta’s face grim. It’s the fact that, for the first time, they’ve run out of something. 

“Is — um — that the only thing?”

“Let me check.” He runs his finger down the inventory, down the line of tallies that keep track of what they’ve used. His mouth thins. “Canned pears are running low. Rice. Um, yeah that’s it.”

Katniss fiddles with the strap of her bra. “We were always going to run out eventually.”

“We can go for a couple more years,” Peeta says bracingly. 

“But then what?” she says. “When those couple years are up.” 

Peeta doesn’t answer. He gets the permanent marker for the inventory, makes a tally, and pulls out a can of pumpkin soup. 

“Peeta.” Her voice is brittle and her throat is tight. “We’ll have to open the hatch.” 

“We have no idea what’s up there.” It’s a fact, not a protest. “If there is anything up there.” 

“It’s our only option, Peeta.” 

It isn’t. There’s one other option. The dark purple pills her mother stocked among the medical supplies. They’re powerful painkillers, with a heavy dose of sleep syrup. One pill will relieve you of almost any discomfort and put you into a pleasant night’s rest. If you were to pop an entire handful ... 

No. They’re not there yet.

“Think about it,” she says, trying to inject some hope into the conversation. “Opening that hatch and seeing the sky again.” 

“Or opening it and immediately drowning,” he replies.

“I’d sooner drown than starve.” 

“Or realizing we’re buried under rock and there’s no way out.” 

“Peeta, stop.”

“Or making it out and discovering we’re the only ones who made it — ”

“Stop!” she yells. “Peeta, stop it!”

Peeta slams their bowls down and grips the edge of the counter, staring into the bubbling pot of soup. His temples strain and his jaw is clenched. 

“Hey.” Katniss softens. “Hey, listen.” She gets up and goes to him, winding her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his taut back. “I’m scared too.” 

“It’s not that I’m scared,” he says. “I mean — I am scared but — ” He turns around and she’s startled at the tears coming down his face. “If you die down here, it’s my fault. I didn’t — I never gave you a choice.” 

“Never gave me — ?” She frowns as she realizes what he’s saying and she grabs his shoulders, shaking him. “Peeta.” 

“I shouldn’t have — I should have given you the choice.” He can’t meet her eyes. 

“Peeta, no.” She shakes him harder until he has to look at her. “I — I would have chosen this.” 

“But your family … ”

“If I’d gone after them, I would have died. I would have died and you’d be alone and — and maybe it’s wrong of me to say it but — ”

She takes his face in her hands and threads her fingers half desperately in the curls she helps him keep messily cut. “I wouldn’t give this up. The past five years. If we’re going to die anyway, I’m glad that … I’m glad I had this … you.”

He makes a pained noise deep in his chest and presses his forehead against hers. “Katniss.” 

“I mean it.” 

“I know you mean it,” he whispers. He cups her elbows. They sway slightly, with only each other for a point of gravity. “I … I wouldn’t give this up either.”

“Not to say there’s nothing to improve,” she murmurs. She feels his breath fan over the bridge of her nose as he exhales in amusement. “I’d have a few more picnic dates. Some stargazing, maybe.”

“Going for drives. Listening to you sing over the radio.” He sighs. “I love your voice.”

They sway with more purpose now, a vague sort of dance that could be done on a pie plate. She sets one bare foot on top of his sock, then the other, until she’s standing on his toes and he has to lean them back against the counter for balance.

“I love you,” she says. “I’d always love you.” 

“I’d always love — ” he begins, but she stops him with her mouth. It doesn’t need saying. It’s understood. 

He spins them around to set her on the counter and she holds him to her, hugging his hips with her legs. She hums in appreciation as he kisses a path along her collarbone and whines when he pulls away. 

“What — ?” 

“Dinner,” he reminds her, hoisting one empty bowl as an exhibit. “Then we can do whatever you want.”

She snags the waistband of his sweats with her toes and he shoves them away as she tries to drag her foot down. “Food first,” he says, swatting at her. 

She rolls her eyes and accepts her soup. It’s good. Not as good as the lamb stew, but she’s grateful for it, now more than ever. She sobers. 

“After dinner we should make a plan. Take stock of everything. See if … see if there’s anything we’ve missed in my dad’s supplies … any way of contacting outside.” 

Peeta nods as he ladles soup into his own bowl. “Good idea.”

She knows he’s humoring her. They’ve been through every last thing her parents left and the pack of communicators listed in the inventory was lost with the rest of the Everdeen family.

But they’re fighters — and if they have to go, she’s determined they won’t go quietly. 

“There is one thing we have on our side,” Peeta says wryly. 

“What’s that?” 

“Plenty of time.” 

**[five years, four months]**

Peeta wakes in the middle of the night (or what he assumes is the middle of the night) in a cold sweat, a nameless terror making his heart pound.

_The safety lights. They’re off. They’re never off. They shouldn’t be off._

He bolts out of bed and stumbles frantically for the wall by the entry ladder that houses the big power switch, bumping into things along the way. He could navigate this space blind, but dread makes him clumsy. _What if the generator’s failed? No power means no light, no heat, and who knows what’ll happen to the oxygen circulator._ He can feel himself growing dizzy at the very thought and bites his tongue hard as he finds the switch by memory. 

It’s in the off position.

Relief washes over him as he slams the switch back into the on position and the blue safety bulbs glow to life like normal. He slumps against the wall, panting, and glances over at the bed. He doesn’t remember turning the lights off, so it must have been her. But why — 

It’s then that he realizes what he tripped over in the dark. It wasn’t dread making him clumsy, it was their boxes of medical supplies strewn over the floor like someone’s been tearing through them in a frenzy. Katniss’s side of the bed is empty, but the bathroom door is slid half open. The rush of blood in his ears abating, he can make out the sounds of someone crying. 

“Katniss? Katniss!” He slides the bathroom door open so urgently it almost pops back out of its track but he catches it with his shoulder as he kneels worriedly beside her. She’s hunched over next to the toilet in nothing but her underwear. She’s shivering, one hand in a fist against her chest, the other pawing at her messy braid as though to calm herself with the action. 

“Katniss.” He draws her into his arms and she collapses against him, her skin clammy and her breath hot against his Adam’s apple. 

“What’s wrong? Katniss, are you hurt? What hurts? Let me fix it.”

“You can’t … you can’t. Nothing hurts.” 

“What happened to the medical supplies then?” he presses, unconvinced. “Katniss, whatever it is — ”

“I was looking for … I didn’t think my mom would have left any because … it’s … she wouldn’t have planned on … but it’s been too long since I … and I woke up feeling sick … but I didn’t want to wake you and … Peeta …” His name is a whimper. 

“Katniss, you’re not making sense.” He rocks her back and forth. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” 

Her fist unfurls from between them and crushes something into his palm. It takes him one confused beat to make sense of it. 

“Oh.” It hits him like a punch to the gut. “Okay.” He drops the plastic stick in favor of caressing the line of Katniss’s spine, more fidgety repetition than soothing strokes. “Okay, um. I — uh.” 

He wants to kick something, to scream at himself and apologize to her for being so stupid and shortsighted. They’ve been careful, but not enough. Really, it’s both of their faults, but what good would saying that do? 

He wants to promise her everything is going to be fine, that they’re going to get out and be happy and safe, and that this is no problem. But he can’t. Because none of it is true. 

_In another world, this would be one of the best moments of his life._

In this world, he gathers Katniss up and turns on the shower. The water runs cool after ten minutes. But it’s a welcome reprieve from the heat flush of panic that shoots up his nerves every few seconds as they sit in the tile corner, half dressed, soaking wet, clinging to each other so tight it hurts. Coming to grips with the fact that time is most definitely no longer on their side.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued ... Thanks for reading *blows a kiss*


End file.
